Archive for March 18, 2016

a wish for us all …


'illusory art' by Maya

static, immobile,
docile, yes-people,

that’s how they want us to be.

let’s not be static, immobile, docile, yes-people.


'illusory art' by Maya

leaden cargo hauled around,

at times fractured, splintered,

needling today,
tomorrow as well

talkin’ bobby dylan blues … … …


'illusory art' by Maya

howling moons, broken teaspoons, cajole me back, to the track, the path i tread, sans fear sans dread, this death row shell, a barren cell, twisting and torn, of all humanity shorn, a living being, passing through this world unseeing, left in rags to rot at the curb of the road, where golden chariots roam and rode, gleaming heels, covet deal-wheedlin’ real deals, tossin’ a few spares in the outstretched cup, off on silken robes to fly, far from the dregs, the chattel, the me’s and you’s & i, high on up into the golden sky, paradise waits, stalks, preys, on this highway of hurt, and on many doleful by-ways … and still, yet, through it all, im stuck in his shell, this cell, and though this is written in joburg city, where i do dwell, if woody’d be here, he’d damn us all to fascist hell … … …


'Illusory art' by Maya

talkin’ heartbreak blues … … …

jingling & a-jangling between insipid day & fungal night, rumbling from those spirituals of yore, in a time way yonder back before, you pirouetted into my days & my nights, when pain was felt, though never this deep, this raw, that rotten gnaw deep in my core, compelling me to scribble this scribble, as i hyperventilate & as my blistered mouth begins to dribble, these sentences, these words, these empty noises, barren drums, calling out, since you left, rendering me mutely bereft, just words, barren drums calling out to you, wherever you are & whoever you are today, now … … …


narcissistic selfie that is quite sad 😎


sidestepping shards of splintered glass, beyond the haze of billowing grass,
yesterday came, as today left, leaving me empty within, bereft,
so take my hand and walk with me awhile, beyond the tears, smuggling in a faint smile,
who knows the paths we’ll weave, as time trickles through its merciless sieve,
so take my hand and we’ll walk awhile, a few steps today, and who knows, tomorrow may be many a mile … … …

ennui … … …

listless thoughts, meandering over jagged faultlines,

seeking respite, rolling to the sea,

to an outlet, an escape,

to be a speck, an infinitesimal part of the whole … … …

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